Eurorack and the Pull of the Experience
In a previous post, I talked about how students often ask me for advice and consultation when developing their own home studios. Over the years, I’ve noticed a clear pattern.
Some students follow the plan we come up with almost to the letter. A few are still using the very same setup we designed together nearly a decade ago. For them, the studio is about function, reliability, and productivity.
Others take a very different approach. They use our consultation more as a starting point—something to spark ideas—then they head off in their own direction. For these students, it’s less about efficiency and more about the in-the-moment excitement of building their studio. They want to experience the process as it unfolds, even if that means changing course along the way.
That second group? That’s exactly how I relate to Eurorack.
Do I Need Eurorack? Not Even Close.
At this point, my studio doesn’t need anything else. As it stands right now—with no further refinements—it’s fully capable of producing professional tracks. From a purely practical standpoint, Eurorack is unnecessary.
Could it improve productivity or efficiency? Possibly. But realistically? Probably not.
So why am I drawn to it?
Because for me, Eurorack isn’t about solving a problem—it’s about the experience.
I want the case. I want the modules. I want the cables. I want to connect things up, turn knobs, push faders, experiment, and see what happens. That process—learning by exploration—is what intrigues me.
Why Eurorack Keeps Calling
Eurorack checks a lot of boxes for me:
- It’s a completely new experience
- It allows for gradual expansion through small modules
- It scratches the “new gear” itch without needing massive space
- It involves music technology and signal routing, which I love
- It pairs well with gear I already own, like the Akai Force
- I have just enough space to make it work
I even went so far as to sit down with ChatGPT and plan out a moderate, fully functional modular system using a specific series of modules I found online. On paper, it all makes sense.
The only real hesitation? I have no idea what I’m doing—and that’s part of the appeal.
Why It’s Still on Hold
As of now, my Eurorack plans are still very much alive. They’re just waiting their turn.
There are about five other things I want to take care of in my studio before I start that project. In a slightly ironic twist, this entire studio conversion originally started with the idea of building a large Eurorack system first—and now it’s the final item on the list before I can say the studio is as “complete” as it’s ever going to be.
And if you’ve owned a studio for any length of time, you know how loaded that word complete really is.
A Plan That Never Fully Went Away
In the YouTube series, during the early work on the synth wall, I mention how that wall came to be. The shelving posts on the right-hand side are spaced exactly 19 inches apart because the original plan was to install a floor-to-ceiling Eurorack system between them.
That plan changed—but the interest in Eurorack never disappeared.
Eurorack has always been part of the vision. It’s just been moved to the back burner while everything else fell into place.
Productivity vs. Experience
Writing this post made me step back and ask a broader question:
When it comes to owning a home studio, how much of it is about productivity—and how much is about the experience?
When I first started this studio conversion, I was watching endless synth jam videos. Many of the people making them openly said they weren’t focused on finishing tracks at all. That made it clear: the goal wasn’t output—it was presence. Being in the moment. Enjoying the process.
As I mentioned in the previous post, home studios—and their owners—are like fingerprints. No two are the same.
So what about you?
Is your studio primarily about function and productivity? Or, like me, does the experience of owning, building, and maintaining your studio play a large role in why you love it?
Either way, both paths are valid—and both can be deeply rewarding.
